


Black Star

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-22
Updated: 2005-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7092586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes and Fred attempt something real.  Sequel to Supernova.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

"Do you miss him?"

It's a ridiculous question, at a ridiculous time. It's been five months since Charles and I broke up; the hurt has lessened considerably.

"What do you want me to tell you, Wesley?" I ask breathlessly. His body tightens, his thrusting becomes rougher, angrier, and I know it's the wrong answer.

"I want the truth." His voice is clipped, and I moan helplessly when his displeasure is translated into violent, rapid thrusts that reach deep inside me.

"I could say yes, or no, and mean both," I pant, wrapping my legs around his waist and arching up to meet his driving motions.

"That's hardly a conclusive answer, Fred," he chastises me.

"Can we not talk about this now, honey?" I beg, mindless with the building pleasure and unable to focus on irrelevant matters such as my now-defunct relationship with Charles.

His hips slow, and all of a sudden he's no longer inside me. I open my eyes in confusion, feeling empty and abandoned. His face has shut down as he leaves the bed and I wonder at the cause, when it hits me. I broke the unwritten rule. I brought emotion into what was supposed to be an emotionless union.

Five months, and he expects me to not feel anything for him? He should have learned that lesson with Lilah.

"Wesley," I begin apologetically, but he brushes me off.

"Really, Fred, there's no need for regrets," he says condescendingly.

His supercilious tone rankles, and I feel the need to bite at him. "I regret this whole situation," I murmur, just loud enough that he can clearly hear me.

He looks at me sharply. "If that's true, why do you continue to come to me?" he asks, his voice almost taunting.

My inner bitch has become much more vocal over the last five months, with Wesley's encouragement. "Maybe it's because I wanted to see how the other half lives," I say spitefully. "You know, the people who hate themselves. I wanted to taste *your* world, Wes."

The instant the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. It's not so much that they hurt him as it is that they hurt *me*. I don't like to reinforce the chasm that separates us.

The look he gives me is mildly amused. "You want to taste my world, do you?" he growls, moving back to the bed. He lowers his head and I moan when his tongue roughly caresses my swollen clit. "How about I taste yours instead?"

My breathing quickens as he works his magic on me. I don't know how I ever could have doubted his abilities, but his tongue, his mouth, his fingers are all skilled beyond the previous scope of my imagination.

I cry out involuntarily when the explosion of sensations crashes over me. Wes lifts his head, and for an instant I think I see an expression of tenderness before it's replaced by a self-satisfied smirk.

"Come here," I insist, and he eases his body over mine. A sigh escapes my throat as he slides himself inside me, and I gather him in my arms as he sets a rhythmic cadence.

"Oh God, Wes," I cry, the words spilling from my mouth heedlessly, my thighs tightening around his driving body. It's only seconds before I'm tumbling recklessly into oblivion.

As the fog clears, I feel Wesley still pumping into me. I squirm away, rolling us both over and sliding off of him. To his credit, Wesley looks at me with trust, not suspicion.

Giving him an impish grin, I wrap my hand around him and guide him to my waiting mouth. He groans as a different kind of wet heat encloses his length like a silken glove.

I never used to like doing this. Every once in a while I would do it for Charles, but I disliked it and he knew it. In the five months I've been with Wesley, there hasn't been a time that I haven't done for him. Funny how the right man can change your perspective.

"Fred," he hisses suddenly, and I prepare myself for the flood. "Oh God," he moans, and then he's spilling himself down my throat.

I pull back when he's done and slip off the bed. Another unwritten rule, one I've never broken, is that I'm not to remain, in his bed or in his home, after we're done.

Before I can gather my clothes, his arm slips around my waist. "Fred." I turn, my eyes roaming his body. My breath catches when my gaze lands on his sleek, well-muscled chest. Who knew he had such a beautiful body underneath his clothes?

"Yes?" My voice is noncommittal, betraying none of the curiosity that's ready to brim over.

"Stay?" His voice is serious, his eyes sincere. There's no pleading, just a simple request. 

I look at him steadily before nodding. "Alright. If you want me to."

He gently pulls me down next to him, kissing me softly before smiling down at me.

"Wesley?"

"Yes?"

I hesitate, unsure of whether or not to voice what I'm thinking. My uncertainty shows and Wesley brushes a finger over my lips. "It's not important, Fred. Not right now."

"But, your question."

He knows what I'm talking about without needing an explanation. "Fred, I don't need you to answer me. It was very unfair of me to ask it of you in the first place."

His reassurance that I don't need to answer only makes it more important that I do. "I don't miss Charles. Not when I'm with you." A small smile slowly creeps onto his face. "It's when I'm by myself, and I have nothing, that I miss him."

The smile fades, and he closes his eyes. When he opens them, he looks at me unemotionally. "Good night, Fred," he says quietly as he kisses me. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest.

I willfully control my tears, pushing them back so that I don't ruin this moment. I've lost so much with this relationship, I can't afford to lose more. I lay my hand on Wesley's, which is curled over my stomach, and close my eyes. The faster I fall asleep, the faster I'll wake up.


	2. Chapter Two

It doesn't surprise me that I wake up alone. His invitation to stay, his arm around me all night, those are the closest things to romance that I'll actually get from him. It makes me sad that I've settled for this. I had something great with Charles, and I let it slip away.

*What you had wasn't real* my brain reminds me as I pull myself into a sitting position. 

"Coffee, Fred?" His silent appearance in the doorway startles me. I blink owlishly at him for a moment before reasoning kicks in.

"Please." I reach out an eager hand for the cup he passes to me, and I wrap myself around it, blissfully inhaling the aroma that wafts up to greet me.

He smiles at me indulgently as he sits down on the bed with me. "Sometimes, your childlike innocence amazes me," he admits. "With everything we've all been through, what you've been through, I find it hard to believe that you can still be so easily pleased."

I'm not entirely sure how to take that, so I shrug. "There's nothing quite like that first cup of coffee," I say quietly.

He leans over and kisses me softly. "I agree."

These new rules are out of my league. Where did all the sudden affection come from? How am I supposed to respond? 

Uncertainly, I kiss him back. I don't want to ruin the quiet moment that we're sharing, but I have to know. I can't just float along, wondering what's going to come next. So I face Wesley directly and open my mouth. "Wesley, what's going on?" I turn my face away, unable to watch the warmth fade from his eyes when he realizes how I'm starting to push. "I don't know how to deal with you now, I don't know what the rules are."

I feel his hand on my shoulder and I glance up. He's looking at me tenderly, and my confusion deepens. "If it makes you feel any better, Fred, I don't quite understand myself," he confesses. "Last night changed something. I just haven't figured out yet what it is."

I have nothing to say to that. What could I possibly? Wesley will open up to me when he's ready.

The phone rings abruptly, startling me. I start to reach for it before I remember that it's not my phone, and I have no right to answer it. I watch Wesley as he picks it up, watch his face as the emotions play over it. Anger, disbelief, suspicion, resignation. Nothing positive. Did I expect anything else?

He hangs up the phone and turns to me. "It seems we've been called in to work," he says tightly. "They need our help locating an ancient symbol. The coordinates for the burial place of the N'halian diamond are apparently written in a scientific form, and none of them can decipher it."

I slide off the bed, clutching the sheet around my body. "Guess I'll go get ready then," I say in acquiescence. Before I can take a single step, Wesley grasps the edge of the sheet and tugs it from my grip. The material falls to the floor, leaving me bare to him.

His gaze roves over me hungrily, a light of possession gleaming in his eyes. "They can wait," he whispers softly, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer to him. His lips caress my throat, his tongue slowly tracing the curve of my collarbone. 

I moan, but try and maintain a reasonable head. "But Wes, if they need us…"

His hands slide over my back and up to my shoulders. "They don't need us half as much as I need you," he breathes, his mouth pressed lightly against my skin.

I have to laugh, difficult as it is with my senses being bombarded. "Wes, you're going to have to be careful what you say," I tease. "You could almost convince me that you're trying to be romantic."

He sweeps me up in his arms and looks at me seriously. "What would you say if I told you I am?"

I blink, not expecting his response. "I would have to say…" I trail off, not knowing how to put my feelings into words. "I'd say that it's what I want more than anything," I finally admit softly.

I feel his smile against my lips as he kisses me fiercely, his tongue slipping into the warm cavern of my mouth. Our tongues dance together, intimately curving around each other.

When he lays me down on the bed, I peer into his magnetic blue eyes. "Wesley, if this isn't real," I begin quietly, but he cuts me off.

"It's always been real, Fred," he says ruefully. "We just wouldn't let it be."

His words give me hope, but I push those feelings away. I only want to concentrate on the myriad sensations I always experience when I'm in his arms. Those, at least, will never betray me.

His fingers, his lips, they're coursing over my skin like liquid fire. Everywhere he touches, a blazing heat burns me from the inside out. Every nerve ending sizzles, making me cry out, begging for him to put an end to the torment. Of course, he doesn't, he wants to drive me to the brink of madness before pulling me back.

Praises and prayers tumble from my lips, mindless words of ecstasy that make him smile wolfishly. His tongue caresses me intimately; starting at my pulse and working his way delicately down to my breasts, over my stomach and through the tangle of curls between my thighs. A groan of inhuman pleasure is torn from my throat when he gently works his fingers, his lips and tongue, over my sensitive flesh.

He slides himself above me as I tremble on the edge, and with a swift plunge, he takes me over. My gasps and moans as stars shatter before my eyes only encourage him; his thrusting is faster, harder, more desperate than it's ever been. I cling to him helplessly as my conscious splinters time after time, an unforgiving storm crashing over me without cease.

As we lie here, entwined together while our rapidly beating hearts start to slow, he looks at me proudly, knowing that he's given me more pleasure than anyone ever has. I don't even want to speak, instead choosing to curl into him and press my cheek to his chest. This moment is perfect, and for a second, I want time to freeze. Angel told me about the kid who was going to stop time so that he could be with his girlfriend forever, and I suddenly understand why.

"I love you, Fred," Wesley murmurs sleepily, and my heart stops. Just for a split second, but it's enough. The words I thought I'd never hear, the words I stopped wishing for long ago, suddenly exist, and they can't be taken back.

I feel trapped. I can't answer him the way I want to. If I say it back, reality will disappear and the illusion that we can love each other will go with it. I'll be alone again, and I'll hate both of us.

"I think it's time we get ready to go to work," I mumble awkwardly.

I feel him stiffen before he extricates himself from my arms. "Indeed," is his only, cold, response.

We get ready in silence, and I know that I'm helpless to stop the downward plunge I've suddenly set us on. I can only follow him silently to his car and let him take us to the only distraction we have left.


	3. Chapter Three

The ride back to Wesley's that night is as silent as the ride to work was. When the SUV rolls to a stop in the parking spot, I get out uncertainly. Despite the strained rift between us, there's always the chance that he wants me to come in. He doesn't say anything though, so I unhappily head for my car.

"Where are you going?"

I turn back to him, my confusion deepening. "To my car."

"Why, so you can go back to the hotel?" he asks impatiently. "If you wanted to stay there, you should have. You could have gotten your vehicle later."

What in the hell does he expect of me?

His face softens at my torn expression. "Come in, Fred," he says quietly. "Please."

I hesitate before stepping through the door he holds open for me. I feel his hand on the small of my back, and his warmth courses through me. "Wes…"

He closes his eyes. "Fred, please, let's just get inside first."

We both fall quiet until we're inside. He's in the kitchen, making his tea, and I'm on the couch. And we're still not talking.

"Wesley, I'm sorry." It's inadequate, and we both know it, but there's nothing else I can say.

"It hardly matters, Fred."

I stand up and he looks mildly surprised as he crosses over to hand me a mug. I stare him dead in the eyes. "It matters, Wesley, and you know it. Our relationship changed, and I defined where it went. What I did was send it someplace neither of us wants it to be."

"And that would be where?" He's amused, and I'm mad. Without thinking, I slap him. Suddenly he's as mad as I am; the amusement is gone.

I'm mortified. "Wesley, I'm so sorry."

He glares at me as he sits down. "Sorry or not, Fred, you did it." He smirks coldly. "I suppose you're right, you *are* defining our relationship."

I'm so tired. I follow his lead, sitting back down on the couch and turning to face him. "I can't help getting so mad at you," I confess. "You treat the things I say like they're jokes. When I try and figure things out, you act like there's nothing to figure."

"I told you I love you. That isn't enough to make you believe I'm serious?" He's softer now, his hand reaching for mine.

I let his fingers curl over mine and I can't meet his eyes. "I think you are, Wesley. But I think you're more afraid of me hurting you than you are of giving this a chance."

His fingers tense, and I finally get the courage to look in his eyes. The intensity in them burns through me and I flinch backward. "Possibly that's true, Fred. I haven't forgotten how I got you in the first place. Perhaps I don't feel like watching you do the same thing to me that you did to Gunn."

I suck in my breath, the sucker punch to my gut as painful as if he'd used his fists instead of his words. "Wes, that's not fair," I begin, but he cuts me off.

"It's entirely fair. This whole relationship has been an exercise in how much we can hurt each other," he refutes bitterly.

I close my eyes. "Please, can we stop doing that?" I ask, my voice trembling. I open my eyes and look into his. "I don't want to hurt you anymore. And I don't want you to hurt me."

"Can you tell me honestly how you feel for me?"

Without a doubt, I know my answer to his question will make or break his answer to mine, and therefore the future of our relationship.

Do I have the courage to be honest with him?

"I've loved you for a long time, Wesley," I admit at last. "I was just scared. You've treated me with such disdain, never any tenderness. I know you're not like that, not always. You're capable of so much compassion, so much caring, that I never understood what was going on with us. I thought that if you couldn't show me any of those things I know you have in you, that it meant you didn't want me for anything other than a bed partner."

He exhales before holding his arms open. With only a twinge of insecurity I move into them, letting his embrace close around me, comforting me and telling me that it's going to be okay.

"I'm truly sorry that I made you feel unwanted, Fred," he says finally. "I suppose I was being the coward my father always accused me of being. What I said about how I got you, how you came to be in my bed, my arms, and not Gunn's, well, that was how I really felt. I was afraid it would take so little to drive you away from me that I refused to allow my emotions to become entangled in our affair."

"And what do you think now?" I ask timidly. 

His lips close over mine and I don't need him to answer. Everything he's kept from me over the relatively short period of our union is conveyed in his kiss. Lust and desire was never in short supply with us, but finally, there's love. And it makes the flames of passion burn a thousand times hotter, a thousand times brighter, than it ever has before.

That makes all the difference in the world.

"Wesley, I'm so sorry," I murmur against his lips when we finally break for air. "I never meant to hurt you. I didn't think I could, but I was afraid you would break me. I couldn't live my life being alone."

"You'll never be alone, Fred," he tells me softly, brushing his lips across my forehead. "I will always be with you. You'll always have my heart."

"I like this side of you, Wes," I tease gently. My eyes are sparkling as I gaze into his. "Although I have to admit it's difficult to reconcile this romantic, passionate, loving man with the cold, emotionless lover I've been with for the last six months."

He winces, and I immediately want to take the words back. "I promise you, Fred, I'll make that up to you," he vows. He lifts a hand, letting it trail lightly over my hair. "I have loved you for so long I can't imagine not loving you. And I despise how I forced myself to treat you, for fear that I would lose control of my heart. Can you ever forgive me?"

His earnest, fearful expression dispels the last vestiges of doubt that remained in my mind. "There's nothing to forgive, Wesley," I say tenderly, leaning into his touch and laying my hand on his leg. "We've made mistakes in our past, true. But we don't have to let those errors in judgment ruin a future together."

The smile that's begun to form on his face quickly disappears, leaving a sober look of despair. "Is a future possible for us, Fred?" he asks quietly. "We've been through so much. How can we sweep away all the hurt, the harsh words between us?"

"We have to try, Wes," I insist sadly. "We owe it to…" I trail off, uncertain whether this is the right moment.

He gives me an odd look. "To whom do we 'owe it'?" he inquires slowly.

My hesitancy gives me away, leaving me no other options. "To ourselves. And our child."

Wesley looks at me in shock. His mouth flaps open and shut like a fish, and it's clear he has no words to express himself. "Fred… God, I don't know what to say."

His speechlessness isn't surprising, but it still stings nonetheless. "That's a surprise," I say bitterly, turning away for a brief moment to compose myself. "You always know the right thing to say."

His hand on my arm pulls me back around to face him, to face the mournful look in that crystal blue gaze. "Never with you, Fred."

My slender thread of control snaps. In frustration, I cry out, "Damn it, Wes! Forget about what we've done and said wrong before. Say the right thing now!"

His hand slips from my elbow to my hand, his fingers twining around mine and bringing them to his lips. The look in his eyes is unmistakable: he loves me. He loves the baby. And he wants a future together as much as I do.

"Marry me."

I can't help but flinch away. I will never let him do this out of pity. That's the worst way to deal with it. "Wrong question, Wes," I say unhappily.

His eyes are kind as he leans down to kiss me softly. Not quite the reaction I was expecting, but hey. Wes has never been short on surprises.

"Then give me the chance to make it right. Let me help us make it work. For all of us," he adds, his hand drifting to my still-flat stomach.

My heart speeds up as I lean in for another kiss. I feel lighter, knowing that I won't have to go through this alone and that despite overwhelming odds, Wes and I are going to make it.

"Yes."

His smile is beautiful, and I'm glad that the cold, emotionless stares that lived on his face for months are now gone. His arms slide around me and he cradles my head against his chest. It feels like home. "Maybe I asked the wrong question, Fred, but I got the right answer."


End file.
